


A Girl Named Nëra

by FourEyesWise



Series: The Girl and her Crow [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Colorism, Disabled Character of Color, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Multi, Racism, Racist Language, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourEyesWise/pseuds/FourEyesWise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given away by her clan at an early age, Nëra Surana hopes that life in the Circle will give her a peace of mind she has yet to experience. Branded as "other" by the elves at the Tower of Magi, and different by the humans, the circle cannot seemingly be the change she hoped for as she trades one form of entrapment for another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Circle of Magi

**Author's Note:**

> This has been weighing heavily on my heart and mind, and so I want to finally begin the long process of writing out bits of Nera's story (pretend I put the diaereses on the e), and developing this warden that I knew from the moment I made her was the only canon warden for me. pretty much this segmented glimpses of her story came from asking a lot of "why not". Why not a disabled lead character, why not a person of color, and why not a fat elf (I refuse to believe there is no goddamn chubby elf anywhere in Thedas!). Sometimes when you find yourself asking so many questions, it's a sign that maybe you should be the one trying to answer them. I hope you enjoy!

If there was one thing Nëra actively despised, it was the inability to act. She had worked far too long as a mover and shaker of Fereldan. Sure, as a mage it hadn’t begun that way, but her skill with coercion, and natural talent for magic had garnered her favor and various advantages with the senior mages within the Circle of Magi. If the other apprentices scorned her for this, it was perhaps because they had been unwilling to be creative to achieve what she had. Allowing the occasional stroke of her superior’s ego’s went far in creating a leeway for her studies, no matter how gross their overt prejudices were. The constant cooing that, such an adorable elvhen apprentice had assimilated so well into human culture, was heard so many times that she could fill a book. Similar comments meant to signify her lesser standing nearly inspired extensively disdainful eye rolls from her. She often found herself biting the inside of her cheek to stop from actually doing so in the beginning. She learned to smile and accept the vexatious comments as if they were actually compliments she graciously wanted. Let them all think that she wanted nothing more than to bring honor and joy to the Circle, and this “Maker” everyone always babbled on about. As long as it got her what she wanted she wasn’t overly bothered by it. It wasn’t too long before Nëra saw a pattern; The more she flattered and played the attentive and earnest student, the more leeway the senior mages were willing to give her. Of course, there were times when certain senior enchanters made show of resistance, but with gentle coaxing the mages would relent little by little. 

In her early years in the Circle, a child of eleven winters, many found her to be off-putting and socially unapproachable. The elvhen and human kids were able to find camaraderie in their general distaste of her presence, and through emotional transfer caused some of the elder mages to be wary. Strange in appearance and manner, those she came in contact with had little notion of what to think of her. Elvhenan were generally mere slips of people, wiry enough in frame that you often feared a strong wind might carry them away. She was different to their already perceived notion of what she should be: face too round with big protruding lips that were unbecoming on her small face, skin the color “water deprived piss” as she’d heard in passing of some Enchanters. Dark thick slashes of what should be eyebrows fell above eyes so black you felt like you were staring into a tunnel with no perceivable end, and a shocking mane of long curly black hair, falling freely around her “portly” body as another child graciously described it. These features marked her as other, a signal that her lineage was “tainted” even if they could not fathom how, though the most circulated theories were mabari or darkspawn blood flowed through her veins. If her appearance wasn’t enough to make her incomprehensible to them, her attitude was. She was quiet, but not from shyness or lack of confidence. To those around her it seemed to be quiet condemnation and permeating apathy towards everyone else. Nëra refrained from making eye contact with her fellow apprentices, senior mages, and templars. It caused others to think something might be off about her, that she was somehow defective in mind, but her talent for magical comprehension proved otherwise. While a shy apprentice might keep their eyes to the ground, Nëra merely stared right past you, as if she wasn’t seeing you but beyond you. However, if she actually deemed to look at you, the recipient of the sudden attention would find themselves gravely unsettled, her dark eyes searching and unblockable. 

These traits only caused further rifts between her and the others, and rumors about what she could be and what might be wrong with her flew secretly from lip to lip amongst the elder enchanters, and less quietly from the children. Their vitriol and inflicted solitude should have gotten to her, but Nëra never spent her nights crying over their imagined grievances towards her, focusing instead on reading what knowledge she could get her hands on. Her interest in tomes often stole all of her available attention, causing her to miss conversation flying around her or instruction from mentors. When asked questions about her interests she could pick a topic and speak on it at lengthy intervals much to the annoyance of the apprentices and impatience of her instructors. When the apprentices became bold and began to physically bully her, she took the hits in remembrance that a loss of control could segue into irreparable damage. She had lost what little of a home she had known under similar circumstances, causing a tenuous family that tolerated her to be openly wary. Why lose another warm place to sleep, just to attack these kids. The names they flung at her did little to illicit a response out of her, but every time they attacked her she felt resentment that none of the mentors stepped forward to help.  
To not lash out took Nëra an incredible amount of control; every touch, jab, push, forced her to increase how much she could take to contain.What she was trying to keep in control, she couldn’t confidently say. Her magic? No, it wasn’t just that, every touch was a strong sensation that often left her mind reeling, and she hated it. Nëra felt like a room that was constantly being filled with water, and certain situations could threaten to make it overfill and break down the door containing it. When she moved to the Circle, there had been hope that it might be better for her, that it would diminish the feeling of having too much inside, but it hadn’t changed all that much. To her, she’d traded one punishment for another, and she struggled to accept this.

Among the Dalish there was very little unwarranted touching and little sound other than the forest and its creatures. The unnatural brightness of the forest and smells from their camp and the forest intermingling caused a searing pain in her head most days, and had a knack for putting her in a foul mood, she’d retreat to a tent and refuse to converse. The tower had more relegated areas for specific activities, places she memorized to avoid at certain times that would be stressful for her. The Circle was also dimly lit, helping with her visual overload, but sacrificed more of her personal perception of her body in relativity to other objects. 

As the bullying continued and she walked through the corridors with more noticeable damage on her body, an older templar of gentle temperament brought it to the attention of the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter, but for all their prodding and questioning she would not repeat the names of those who had harmed her. As she continued to forego answering or giving little to no response Greagoir felt his patience wear dangerously thin, when suddenly he snapped, placing a firm hand on her shoulder and ordering her to look at him. Nëra’s scream took everyone present by surprise, at first it seemed a singular response but as she continued shouting unintelligible things it was apparent something was horribly wrong.


	2. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter briefly shows a version of a character dealing with sensory overload, and three grown ass men who don't really know what they're doing.

However frightening it was to them, it was infinitely more so to Nëra. She’d become hyper aware of being in the First Enchanter’s office, surrounded by him, the Knight-Commander and the templar who had escorted her here. The light from the sconces seared her eyes, and she swore she could hear every breath as though there was constant roaring in her ears. This was too much like her experience with her clan, and she tried to keep a grip on her mind, physically letting her nails bite into the arm of the chair she occupied. She felt ready to bolt from her chair as her mind struggled against the need to implode. 

The Knight-Commander placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, and it was as if a searing force jolted through that touch to her shoulder, and shocking the rest of her body. A guttural cry ripped itself from her throat and she felt a loss of connection with everything else around her. She swiped violently at the Knight-Commander’s hand and flung herself out of the chair, flailing, before falling to the floor. As talk of possession arose and Irving attempted to stay Greagoir’s hand from acting rashly, Nëra became more distraught, biting into her own hand, and smacking her head with her free one. Anything to cease the torrented sensations coursing through her, the room was too filled with water, and she would drown in herself. 

The First Enchanter’s words fell on deaf ears and any attempts to get closer had Nëra in more of a panic. Irving began to fear she would do serious harm to herself and quickly entrapped her in a sleeping spell, the room as loud as it had been now stilled with uneasy silence. Knight Commander Greagoir was the first to break it. 

“Irving that child must be taken by a demon, you will hand her over to my custody so that we can end this foolishness and keep her from being a danger to the Tower.”

The Knight Commander was always so rash, unable to see past his paranoia without help, and because of the man’s quick temper Irving had more than enough hassle trying to guide him along a more understanding and beneficial path of action. Irving ran a hand down his face, exhaustion a heavy weight that sagged his shoulders, “Greagoir, I doubt the child has become a maleficarum with such a display.”

Greagoir looked towards him with open scorn, “Irving are you so blind with devotion to these mages that you would willingly write this off? Do you have no respect for what we do here? Your kindness is more weakness than boon.” 

“Now, now, no need to work yourself into a tizzy Knight Commander. You know as well as I do that it is highly unlikely for a maleficarum to so quickly and easily reveal themselves after gaining access to the outside world. As terrible as they are, demons are not so easily foolish, as much as we wished they were.” 

The two old acquaintances held each other’s gaze, and for a long moment no one moved, until the templar that had escorted the young charge sneezed. As if shaken from their contest of wills, both Irving and Greagoir turned to look at the other templar.

The First Enchanter recognized the man, Ser Cowell, an older templar who had been at the Ferelden Circle for nearly eight years. Tall, broad shouldered with a Rivaini tan, he sported steely gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a tidy grey beard instead of the chestnut brown from years prior. His normally warm brown eyes were dulled with worry. His older sister having been sent to a circle when he was ten had perhaps tempered his views on mages, and he walked a fine line between being lenient, and by Greagoir’s standards, sacrilegious towards the duty they upheld at the Tower. He had a reputation amongst mages and templars alike for being friendly (too friendly some of his peers would scoff), and compassionate when appropriate. Ser Cowell would do what was required of him, but he harbored no ill will towards any of his charges, and could be trusted to give an honest and fair response. 

Irving sensing an advantage tookly took hold of it, “Ah Ser Cowell, is it? Yes, you’ve been watching over young Nëra, and in fact you’re the reason we’re all here. How do you think we should proceed?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Knight Commander scowl at him, and had to clamp down on the smirk that threatened to overtake his features. 

Ser Cowell straightened as the Knight Commander’s eyes fell on him, he could almost feel the commander’s distaste rolling off of him. His eyes flickered down to the girl’s sleeping form, though magically coerced to pass out, Nëra still held a tightness in her face that made her seem unsettled and wary. His frown deepened, he had watched the girl become distant from the other students, no thanks to their constant bullying and clear avoidance of her; he was not sure if she had a friend at all within in the tower, and though it should have worried him, it did not. The girl carried herself with a remarkable amount of diligence, never seemingly bothered by her forced social isolation. She was clever from what he’d seen, and apparently smart from the sarcastic comments made at her expense from her mentors. He felt that he should be more suspicious of her, that it was better to be safe than possibly cause harm to the rest of the charges within the circle, but it felt wrong, he felt wrong. In her outburst he’d only seen a frightened and emotional child. 

The Knight Commander cleared his throat in impatience, and Ser Cowell swallowed as he tried to choose his next words carefully, “Knight Commander, First Enchanter, I admit that I am unsettled by the girl’s display as well, but I feel it was caused by the emotional turmoil she may be feeling as a result of the treatment she receives from her peers and the less than appropriate comments made by mentors that no doubt make there way back to her,” He unconsciously rubbed at the back of his head, a nervous trait he’d never quite shaken from his years as a recruit, “She has been here two, nearly three years, but many here have made it clear that she is not welcome. I think it would be prudent to keep an eye on her interactions, and take measures to check and make sure she is not enthralled by some other force, but I do not believe her to be a danger as of yet. Which goes the same for many mages here if I am not mistaken, Knight Commander.”

Ser Cowell held his breath, as his commander seemed to stew for a bit. Irving looked on in partial amusement, but found himself more amazed than anything that the templar had spoken more than fairly, that he was actively sticking his neck out to ensure her future. Irving’s eyes flicked back over to Greagoir in question, “Well Greagoir, what say you? The final decision is yours, but I do believe there’s high chance that we would end up as child killers by dusk tomorrow.”

Greagoir shifted in discomfort, eyes narrowing as he looked between his subordinate and Irving. With a frustrated sigh he released the tension in his shoulders he hadn’t realized he was holding. Regardless of how callous many might think him, he wasn’t eager to hurt a child without need, he would stay his hand for the time being. 

“Fine. Ser Cowell will take the girl back to her quarters, but I want a close eye on her for the time being, do you understand me Irving?”

“Of course my good man, you have my full support as always.”   
‘Full support my ass.’ Greagoir thought, he swore he could see the mischievous gleam in Irving’s eyes as he conceded, and it irked him to no end. With not a word more he strode from the First Enchanter’s study.

Ser Cowell gingerly scooped Nëra from the floor and inclined his head respectfully to First Enchanter Irving before taking his leave with Nëra in his arms. 

Irving finally allowed the exhaustion to overtake him as he sank down into a chair. He tried to recall what snippets he’d heard about her during her two years with them, yet not much came to mind. He hadn’t lied when he had told Greagoir he didn’t believe her to be possessed, but what had happened was still concerning, even more so because he was unsure of how to proceed. He would keep an eye on her, and perhaps speak to her at a later date, if he could get the child to open up. His work never seemed to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the second chapter of this installment! It's been a good and long amount of time since I published chapter one, but that's life I guess? (The music department is swallowing up my entire life) I apologize for the delay, and hope you enjoyed chapter two. As always, as I quickly discuss important topics, if you find something to not be written in a way that does do the topic justice and/or you feel concerned it may be in bad taste, I welcome constructive feedback. I cannot stress enough that this story is important to me, and I would like with all integrity and creativity that i can manage, but not at the expense of coming off as an asshole. Thanks again for reading!
> 
> _Queen Ti

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my work on only my second fanfiction on this site, and woo this has been a doozy so far to try and write. There is a lot of trepidation on my part while writing this and finally posting it to the web. This story came to be because I realized that there was something that differed with my warden when compared to the habits of my hero and inquisitor. Just the way she interacted socially, emotionally, and mentally towards the things that surrounded her. It wasn't until approximately 5 months of behavioral psychology and two more weeks into personal study that I realized that she could be on the autism spectrum. I know that may off put some as I myself do not rest on the autism spectrum, and only have experienced it secondhand through coworkers, classmates and friends. However I want to assure everyone that I want to tell this character's story to the best of my ability, and with all the resources available to me. As a person who copes with mental illness, and a minority who face misrepresentation, I want to strive to better myself as a writer so that I may as accurately as possible represent others. Of course Autism is not a thing mentioned in the fantasy world of Thedas but just like with race, I believe it would be foolish to assume that a percentage of this massive world would not be affected by something similar. I will use the information I have as a reference guide, and am always open to constructive feedback. I could have foregone mentioning that this character will have actions they do reminiscent of someone with Autism, but it feels wrong to do so. If I am to write, I want all people to be able to feel a connection with the characters I create, whether in one story or the next. Thank you for taking the time to read the first chapter of the installment and this note.
> 
> -QueenTi


End file.
